


aegis

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Dark Rey, F/F, General Rey, Oral Sex, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Service Top, first order rey, light D/s elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-29 01:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15719160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: There was only one indulgence she allowed herself. And it was this.





	aegis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weakinteraction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/gifts).



Rey kept her hands clasped behind her back. It was the only way to ensure she didn’t reach out and do something stupid, like try to choke the Supreme Leader where he stood. “If you don’t like my recommendation—” Her jaw creaked with the pressure she was exerting on her molars. Lovely. “—you’re more than welcome to come up with your own solution to the problem.”

The problem, of course, being the Resistance. Because when was it ever anything but the Resistance? They’d spent years chipping away at the First Order’s forces, held aloft by the occasional grand victory, and now it was finally starting to show. This probably would have happened even if Kylo Ren wasn’t in charge, but she was perfectly willing to heap the blame at his feet anyway. Especially since he wouldn’t listen to her. Even if he had done her a favor by killing Snoke, she was not willing to cut him any degree of slack.

She wasn’t stupid, after all; she’d known Snoke’s thoughts. They were the thoughts of monomaniacal tyrants everywhere. The First Order only existed to see his will done. And his will was limited to the death of Jedi, of Luke Skywalker, of sad old men in the most abandoned corners of the galaxy. Kylo was much the same, though he at least widened the net to include the Resistance thanks to his mother’s place in it.

That impulse could, at least, be made useful.

When their illustrious ruler didn’t have his head up his ass anyway.

The leather of Rey’s gloves tightened over her knuckles as she clenched her fist. She wasn’t as schooled in the use of the Force as Ren, but for one moment, she thought, _maybe_. And then Phasma, ever at Rey’s side, cleared her throat and Rey remembered herself, remembered that no matter how much she hated Ren, there was nothing she could do about him. Not like this. Not now.

Someday. When all of the pieces were in place.

But not today.

Ren turned and looked at her with baleful eyes, more like a lost little boy than the leader the First Order needed. They’d won in all but name, but their triumph was yet incomplete and Rey worried that Ren could not seal the deal. “I will take your suggestion under advisement,” he finally answered, injecting as much ice into his tone as he could. He’d gotten a little better over the years at pretending he knew what he was doing, but Rey saw through him anyway. In his heart, he was as insecure as ever. As unbalanced. She couldn’t trust that he would do what needed to be done. “In the meantime, I suggest leaving well enough alone.”

Phasma’s armor clicked as she adjusted her stance. The entirety of Rey’s focus honed in on that sound. Better that than her continued frustration with Ren’s utter unwillingness to commit to a course of action. Though Phasma did not, in fact, touch her, not here on the bridge of the remade _Supremacy_ , she felt the weight of Phasma’s hand through her greatcoat all the same. It was what Phasma would have done were they alone. A familiar gesture, a private one, and the only thing that stopped Rey now.

“Of course, Supreme Leader,” she responded, inclining her head in as respectful a manner as she could manage. Her effort counted for little, though because he turned away as she offered it. Ignored her entirely. Probably didn’t even see it.

Her lips pursed and she kept a string of invectives locked behind her teeth. It was entirely possible he could sense the tenor of her thoughts and they would not serve her well if she continued along their winding, treacherous paths. 

Spinning on her heels, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and lifted her chin. Around her, the bridge crew avoided her gaze. Good. She didn’t want to acknowledge any of them, least of all while she wasn’t even technically on duty. 

Then again, she felt as though she was never _off_ duty. 

Sparks of light reflected off the walls as Phasma followed, her armor clicking lightly as she trailed after Rey. Warmth, something almost like affection and definitely like need, filled her.

Once in the hallway and clear of any subordinates, she chewed her lower lip and waited for Phasma to approach, considering. Even facing the hard, unemotional mask of Phasma’s helmet, she could tell Phasma knew what she was thinking. 

All she offered was a sharp nod.

But that was all she needed to give for Phasma to understand. 

Rey’s quarters were spare, spartan. They housed a bed, a desk, a closet, a bathroom, and one bed stand on which stood a rarely-used holoprojector. Kept hidden inside was her blaster.

She preferred things this way, disposed of anything that happened to infiltrate her space, more of it than anyone could ever hope to expect. Trinkets from annexed worlds, offerings of liquor or riches from schmoozing, simpering admirals, like those things were more valuable than a favor owed.

There was only one indulgence she allowed herself. And it was this. Not excess or jewels or credits. Just this.

“Remove your uniform,” Phasma said, door shutting firmly behind her. The request—and sadly it was a request, even if they pretended otherwise—send a shudder of contentment rippling through her. Phasma was the one woman to whom she would willingly submit. Even if only in this one small way.

Still. A part of her, still frustrated with Ren, frothed and gnashed its teeth in the background. Who was Phasma to tell her what to do? Her hands clenched again at her sides and she considered calling it off, that part beginning to drown out the pleasure the rest of her felt. Damn it. It was going to be one of those days.

Unable to face Phasma, she turned and tried to shrug out of her coat. It weighed heavily on her shoulders, clung to her like a mynock, threatened to smother her. She wanted desperately to do as Phasma asked.

She just couldn’t.

“Do you require assistance?” Phasma asked. The tone of her voice was free of the mechanizing vocoder, warmer even if perhaps she didn’t like to sound so. Phasma did so pride herself on her coldness.

After a moment, there was a thud as she placed her helmet on the desk.

Rey knew how this would go and counted down the seconds as Phasma removed her armor until she was down to nothing except the black, fitted bodysuits all stormtroopers wore. If her heart sped up at the thought of Phasma’s muscular body exposed in such a way, if her stomach twisted in desire and want, that was her own business.

Their relationship was such that Rey could allow herself this one thing.

In short order, Phasma’s battle-roughened hands curled around the base of her neck. Her thumbs brushed her throat, well above the collar. Her fingers slipped down her sternum and curled beneath the lapels of the coat. In one fluid gesture, Rey was free of the garment.

It fell to the ground with a soft _whushing_ sound.

Rey drew in a deep, almost gasping breath. Her heart knocked even harder at her sternum, wild and unrestrained.

Having overcome that hurdle, it was easier to bring her hands up to begin unclasping her uniform jacket as Phasma pulled the pins from her hair. Her eyes focused entirely on the bed and on what Phasma might do once she put Rey there.

The anticipation was almost enough to buckle Rey’s knees.

Finally entirely naked, her uniform a forgotten heap, she shivered. Her skin prickled and grew tight in the cold air. Though she couldn’t see it, she knew Phasma’s gaze roved over her body, heavy with possibility. The image formed so perfectly in her mind’s eye that she didn’t even have to turn to know it was there.

With the warmth of a brand, Phasma’s touch pressed against between her shoulder blades and down toward one hip, pushing her toward the bed. Climbing up, Rey settled on the hard mattress and sprawled.

The thin bedspread was cold against her back and buttocks.

She allowed herself to look up at Phasma then, caught herself in the heat of Phasma’s ice-blue gaze. A flush decorated her pale skin and her blonde hair fell into her eyes, annoying enough that Phasma tried to push the strands back into place. Rey wished it was her doing that, but they knew the game. Rey did not touch. That was Phasma’s job and she did it so very well.

Phasma’s palms slid up the outside of Rey’s thighs, wrapped around the back of her knees and dragged her back toward the end of the bed.

She pushed Rey’s knees apart and knelt between them, exposing her completely. Pleasure spiked inside of her, caught her deep in her chest and spreading through every inch of her. Some of that pleasure, she knew, was Phasma’s. It mingled with Rey’s, sharper and more focused. She’d come to learn the shape of it in their time together, felt it in the back of her mind, a strange source of comfort in the midst of the work of conquering the galaxy in order to remake it in their image.

Phasma’s hands brushed along the inside of Rey’s thighs, up toward her center, teasing at the soft expanses of her skin.

Reaching for her, Rey tangled her fingers in Phasma’s hair. It always surprised her how silky and smooth it was and she enjoyed the feel of it beneath her palm. Tightening her grip, she forced Phasma forward on her knees.

Humming, Rey looked down at Phasma, pleased with the tiny hint of annoyance that flashed in her mind at Rey’s forwardness. Always best to get Phasma going first, she’d found.

With a smile, she released her grip and leaned back. But her own actions it didn’t matter, because the corner of Phasma’s mouth lifted in triumph, finding victory where she could. Though how, Rey couldn’t have said.

And it was victory. Rey would not have accepted this with anyone else. Would not have ceded to another’s touch. Would not have accepted a smirk offered from between her legs. They both knew it. And they both benefited. 

Rey more than Phasma. At least in Rey’s opinion. But Phasma had never had the pure experience of being manhandled by herself, touched and tasted the way Phasma liked to do. If only Rey could share it with her. Maybe she would change her mind.

But the Force could only do so much. Rey knew that. And so she allowed herself to revel in this one thing, this one place, this one person. Phasma was as cool and distant in here as she was out there. The only difference here was Phasma called the shots. Outside, Rey could have her arrested for disloyalty, executed as a traitor, all because she said so, no other proof needed. Rey could order her to slaughter her own charges and she would do it. Outside, Phasma’s only play was for survival and Rey held the best cards in that game.

Here, Phasma played for other things.

Even if she never allowed Rey to touch her, she must have gotten something from it.

She kept coming back. Kept kneeling for Rey. Kept demanding without a word that Rey splay herself for her. And Rey, too, kept allowing it. Kept wanting it. Kept tensing in anticipation at the mere thought of Phasma’s tongue, her fingers.

Now that quiet has truly descended, even the rustling of the sheets a distant whisper, Rey would have no control over this encounter. Sure, if Rey wanted to break the rules, she could have pushed, but Phasma would have stopped, would have gone. And she very likely would not have come back. And there was a very real part of Rey that didn’t know what she would do if that happened.

Rey turned her head toward the bed, squeezed her eyes shut. It was at this point that she didn’t dare look at Phasma for fear of what she might do. Something stupid surely, like try to reciprocate. 

Biting her lip, she drew in a deep breath and gasped as Phasma kissed a trail up her leg, slow and ponderous, occasionally stopping to lick and suck marks into her skin. A few times, she bit hard enough to startle Rey and then laved the wound as she ignored the rest of Rey’s body. Tensing and flexing, Rey knew that no amount of babbling or pleading would make Phasma move more quickly.

Every inch of her grew enervated and heat pooled in her core. Wetness slicked her thighs, the almost sweet scent of her growing noticeably. Phasma could do this to her for hours if she had the mind to, keep her here until she was a shivering wreck with no room left in her for her thoughts, her duties.

It was the most relaxed Rey ever got.

Rey had never asked what Phasma got out of this arrangement, but at this point, it didn’t really matter.

Tensing and then flexing, Rey stretched her muscles and shifted closer, shameless. A moan, almost silent, caught in her throat. Even these tantalizing little detours before Phasma really got going felt so good, made every inch of her throb with need, greedy and impatient.

“Please,” she said, a word she never offered in any other context. It came out breathy and high, so different from the tone she took anywhere else. She wondered what Phasma thought of it and then discarded the concern as unnecessary. Phasma had certainly never complained and sometimes it resulted in her doing exactly as Rey wanted.

Like now, when she finally brought her mouth to Rey’s center, pressed her tongue against Rey, warm and wet and so good that Rey’s hands tighten into fists in the sheets and she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out already, close to undone so soon, already, right now. This was what Phasma did to her. It was what kept her coming back.

She seemed to be everywhere all at once, her hands broad and calloused and rubbing circles into the sensitive skin on the inside of her knees as she pushed her legs even farther apart until her body ached with it. The burn of it only enhanced how good the rest of it felt. Each curl of Phasma’s tongue struck her like lightning, jolts that made her feel as alive as she ever felt.

Phasma’s tongue continued to press and swirl around Rey’s clit, her pressure and speed changing every time Rey thought she might be getting close. So it was one of those days. Rey couldn’t say she minded.

Hips twitching, Rey knew the only thing she could do now was ride it out, float on the sensations, let what thoughts remained focus on the sense of contentment she got from Phasma in addition to her own, Phasma perfectly happy to do what she was doing with no consideration for her own physical release.

In some ways, that made it even better. All of this was for Rey’s benefit. Whatever pleasure Phasma took, it was all in the offering of that. It was a heady feeling, a powerful one in some ways. Sure, Rey might well have done anything to get Phasma to keep doing what she was doing, but that wasn’t what Phasma wanted.

She just wanted Rey reduced to this.

Rey could live with that.

“Good,” she whispered, the word slipping out unheeded as Phasma did something particularly wicked with her tongue that left Rey gasping and panting. “You’re so good.”

Phasma’s rhythm stuttered for a moment and reasserted itself, redoubled. Her fingers pressed against her and slid easily between her folds, slipping into her and stretching her wide. She groaned and arched her back as Phasma worked her. Over and over again she pushed, deeper and deeper, her tongue flicking in perfect, delicious counterpoint.

She was close, so close. Her completion built inside of her, a crackling fire only just ready to combust into a full conflagration. “Please,” she said, and repeated it in a chant. Fuck, she needed it, just that little bit more, that one thing that would drive every other thought from her mind. “Please.”

Just when Rey thought Phasma was going to deny her, she twisted and crooked her fingers, curling them before thrusting even more deeply inside of her. Her teeth scraped over Rey’s clit and she sucked, drawing every last bit of resistance that Rey had.

Rey bit at her own palm to keep from screaming out as her orgasm rushed through her, burning every nerve with the intensity of her release. And through it all, Phasma continued to work her. When Rey tried to thrash, Phasma’s free hand held her in place as best it could, a heavy band across her abdomen, the fingers of her other hand still inside of her.

It was only when Phasma released her and pressed a surprisingly delicate kiss against the juncture of her hip that she could still. Breath still coming in ragged gasps, she brushed at her sweat-soaked hair.

Phasma pushed herself to her feet, brushed her hands down her torso. Rey knew better than to ask if there was anything she could do. What Phasma did with herself after these trysts, Rey couldn’t say. She kept it locked away. Whatever she got from Rey satisfied her enough.

And Rey couldn’t ever complain.

There was no point in speaking further, in thanking her. Phasma would leave and they would be ever as they were. But for a few moments, Rey didn’t have to be a general and Phasma didn’t have to be the commander of Rey’s stormtroopers.

These moments would get her through the next however many days or weeks would pass until the next time they got together again.

Maybe then Rey would have the courage to demand the chance to reduce Phasma to her most pleasured responses. Maybe then, she’d get everything she wanted.

The sound of Phasma reasserting herself was a well-worn one. She knew every creak, snap, and click of that armor as it was put back into place.

Until then, this was enough.

As the door slid open and then shut again, Rey smiled.

Phasma really was the best at everything she put her mind to.


End file.
